Another Me
by Hatane
Summary: Can this 'other' girl really be trying to take over May Delussey's life?


'Well well, look who it is, May Delussey, always got her nose stuck in a book

**A/N: Yeah, I owe you guys a lot of stories, but here's a new one, just for some laughs…? The characters may not be so obvious at first, but you'll get it in due course. This plot is based on Catherine MacPhail's book, "**_**Another Me**_**". Some may say it's an elementary book, but I've made it better and more detailed. Enjoy!**

'Well well, look who it is, May Delussey, always got her nose stuck in a book!'

I poked my head out from the large, thick paperback and stretched my legs from under the cafeteria's table, leaning on my elbows. The two of them merrily skipped forward, I would consider them my _best_ friends. Dawn's pale pink jacket hung in my face, as she swept her hair to one side, shaking her head slightly as she carelessly fingered my book. Readjusting the crimson red scarf that was tightly hung around her neck, she made loud 'tsk' noises, and giggled.

'So what are you reading…?' she asked with curiosity, seemingly excitedly picking up the book to flip through at the fast pace, while Misty smirked, 'Has to be good.'

'For sure,' Dawn added in as her comments, and almost instantly after she looked at the spine of the book, I watched her face crumple, '_All Quiet on the Western Front_...'

After her long, dramatic pause, she set the book down gently, 'May… this book is _fascinating_… **not**!' The front page which she had been holding up was slammed shut, and Misty chose the most _perfect_ time to laugh. (If you couldn't tell yet, Dawn was not that of a reader and obviously thought it was funny.)

I snorted slightly, as said with a straight face, 'It's about the First World War.' Carefully, I parted the pages and tried to find where I stopped. 'Either way, I'm trying to get it finished before I get it returned to the library. You know I don't like having to pay a fine for any late books…'

Misty grabbed my book away, despite my protests, and Dawn continued, 'May. Reading about a war, come on, _honestly_. It's bad enough in history lessons, hello? Reading something more enriching-'

'-The First World War _is_ interesting!' I retorted, trying to grab the book again, and Misty pushed me back. Dawn coughed slightly rudely, 'As I was saying, you should read something more enriching, something good for a change…'

'Like… Stephen King,' Misty said in a whisper, grinning grimly, and I took the rare opportunity to grab my book again, and I miraculously, succeeded. I stuffed the book onto my lap, pouted, and then added, 'Anyway, you _know_ perfectly well, and yet now I remind you again, that I do _not_ like ghost stories…' I paused, '…Or anything scary, for that matter.'

Dawn only laughed slightly and rolled her eyes in ignorance, 'May, we _all_ know that ghost stories don't happen in real life, they never happen, never _will_. Whereas war—' she grabbed my book and quickly tossed it back (and I caught it). 'Now, wars are _real_ and can happen, and they are scary.'

I couldn't start a heated debate; Dawn was on the upper hand this time. I knew it was true, every bit of it. Even if those newspapers and magazines reported of ghost sightings and stuff, they were just marketing ploys to get people to read about it, they were never true. Ghosts aren't real. Ghost stories don't happen. Not in real life. But either way, they managed to find a way to scare the crap out of me, and I always had a disdain towards those novels.

Misty gently nudged me, 'You'd better hurry if you're headed to the library.' She pushed me harder, and I stumbled slightly. 'Or you'll be late for drama with _Daft Donald_.'

I quickly made a mark of my page, and groaned loudly on the thought of those two words, 'Daft Donald _still_ wants to put us in a play? You _can't_ be kidding!' The actual thought about it made me groan louder and I slouched heavily, my green sweater sagging slightly until Dawn straightened me up. At least we all agreed on something. Donald Moffat was one of our English teachers and was always trying to get our class interested in play acting. (If it wasn't obvious enough, that's what made him so daft.)

Misty and Dawn joined in my little groaning session by letting out louder ones, before they announced it properly to me (perhaps not, through gritted teeth would be the better expression for it), '_Shakespeare_.' They slapped their palms right onto their face and groaned even louder, and I looked at them, horrified.

'_SHAKESPEARE_?' I couldn't take this in, it was just unbelievable, 'Is he out of that daft mind of his own?!' The trio of us made gagging noises along the corridor, trying to make ourselves vomit or something, before I started again, 'I _hate_ Shakespeare. People talk plain funny and being mistaken for other people. Who'd ever believe that?'

Dawn piped in with glee, 'At least we get to dress up! And that is probably the most _fabulous_ part of drama that I will only love.'

'Unless he decides we've to play it in the nude,' Misty smirked, causing Dawn to shriek at the thought, while I laughed heartily. Dawn swayed slightly, 'And I hope it's _Romeo and Juliet_.' Her voice was dreamy, and I let out a stifled laugh, even Misty was gagging again, as Dawn daydreamed, her eyes trailing over my shoulder, 'And here comes Romeo.'

I didn't have to turn to look, but I figured I'd just do that. I knew who she was referring to in my mind already. Drew Fraser. The one several girls in our year called the heart-throb, they swooned over him like no one's business. I rolled my eyes at their ignorance, of course. Even the juniors fancied him, but I bet not as much as he fancied himself. Obviously, I was not one to fall head over heels over some jerk he was. I knew him too well, always had. He lived on the second floor of our high block of flats. Eleven floors below me - and beneath me in every way.

I had grown up with Drew, been to every one of his birthday parties and he was always invited to mine. Our mothers were friends from way back. And being myself, I found it was terribly difficult to fancy someone when he's bashed you with a fire engine (his third birthday), attempted to stuff a chicken on your head (his fifth), and sunk his teeth into your arm and drawn blood (his sixth, if I can still remember correctly).

I always viewed him to still be a vampire, even now. He loved reading about the occult, and possibly any kind of psychic phenomena. He's a weirdo, if anyone were to ask me for my opinion. If my friends could see his room, hung with skeletons and masks and monsters, they would think he was a weirdo too. Of course, seeing his room _was_ a lifetime dream that both Misty and Dawn yearned to come through, so it would have been of no use.

However, it seemed my views were of the minority. Even reluctantly, I would have to admit, Drew Fraser had grown from a knock-kneed boy into a weirdo who was (surprisingly) tall and handsome. He was long and thin, with bouncy chartreuse hair and a lopsided grin. His emerald eyes was probably the part of him that sent most of his fans into orbit. He flashed them in our direction.

'Why, _hello_, girls,' he grinned, the words thrown to us as if he had scattered the world's most precious jewels among his harem. Then he half-sauntered, half-swaggered past us, while Dawn swayed dreamily on her spot, Misty seemingly entranced too.

'He _is_ gorgeous, by the way,' she added, and I rolled my eyes again. I hurried off, and left them both mooning after him, to their delight. But whatever, I couldn't really bother.

Actually, hurried would have been the incorrect term to use. I was too busy reading to hurry – to anxious to finish my book to even watch where I was heading. So I failed to notice the person that I had most carelessly caused myself to brush against as I went into the library. Muttering a quick and half-hearted apology, I was vaguely aware of the green sweater she wore – that looked exactly like mine, going out as I entered the library.

_Yet, at the exact same time, same second, something ice cold shivered down my spine, as if someone had just walked over my grave. That's what they always say, isn't it? Someone walking over your grave?_

At the desk, Mrs Watt, the school librarian was once again too busy pinning up another poster. I had gently ring the bell neatly seated on the counter to try and draw her attention to me. She spun around on instinct, quickly embedding the small pin, before returning her full attention to me.

'Oh hello there May. …Did you… forget something…?'

I was already guessing that she had noticed the puzzled frown lingering on my face, 'Mrs Watt… I've only just come in.'

'Didn't you… just leave…?' she said in a confused tone, adjusting the horn-rimmed spectacles that were perched high up on her nose bridge. Her eyes trailed to the door momentarily, still confused.

I shook my head. 'I came to return this book.'

Her eyes were still fixed intently on the door leading out of the library, 'My goodness, I could have sworn that was you.' She brushed the notion away with a toss of her head. 'Oh well, they do say everyone had a double somewhere.' Pressing out her flowery dress, she then hummed to herself, and made her way to the back of the library.

It was only as I was walking to drama class that I remembered the girl I had bumped into and the green sweater just like mine. That was what got Mrs Watt all mixed up. She had seen the girl in the green sweater and thought it was me.

That was the simple explanation.

…Wasn't it?

**A/N: That was the first chapter for you guys. Yes, Drew is supposed to have green eyes, I was most amused when I first read the book a few years back. Anyway, Chapter two's coming up - I promise the updates on this story will be **_**really**_ **fast, if not you have every right to spam my mail.**


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